


Just One More

by Prism_Streak



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats - T. S. Eliot
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Multi, Organized Crime, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prism_Streak/pseuds/Prism_Streak
Summary: Not all crime is created equal. There is crime for the wealthy, and crime for the poor. Their impacts are not the same, nor are their consequences, but all crime has one thing in common- it's all controlled by Macavity.The Rum Tum Tugger's life is also controlled by Macavity. As long as he can remember he has either brushed elbows with criminals, or been one. Not that it's gotten him anywhere. At twenty one, he is faced with a choice- the opportunity to live in security and safety in the criminal underground, or to move outside it for the first time. With the clock ticking, he definitely doesn't have time for any distractions.But nothing can ever be easy.
Relationships: Bombalurina & Rum Tum Tugger (Cats), Grizabella & Rum Tum Tugger, Grizabella/Macavity (Cats), Macavity & Rum Tum Tugger, Mr. Mistoffelees/Rum Tum Tugger, Old Deuteronomy/Grizabella
Comments: 32
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully I will be updating once or twice a week. This is a quarantine project though, so no promises.
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, MagicalMarvelous! You're the reason this story will be anything resembling coherent.
> 
> Comments of all kinds are appreciated. In fact, please.

Tugger's first memories were of Macavity. 

They were of raised voices- his mother's, pleading, and Macavity's shouting, which had lodged itself deep in his brain like a knife by the time he was old enough to understand the words being said. The details faded with time, but the fear he felt would never quite disappear. 

Macavity was not his father. He had once asked his mother if he was; she'd held him and cried, and told him to never, under any circumstance, ask Macavity those kinds of questions. But from that day on she had told him stories about her time with his father, a man who was in every way Macavity's opposite. She told him of kind eyes, and a warm smile, and a deep steady voice that said nice things. She told him of homemade hot chocolate, and of the blankets that were kept on the couch just for her, because she got cold easily. They were never complicated or exciting stories, but Tugger loved them. He loved his father. 

He didn't remember if Macavity had lived with them, in those early days. Had he shown the same devotion he demanded of Tugger's mother, or had it always been a forced, one-sided shell of a relationship? It hardly mattered, the quiet, happy moments of Tugger's childhood were few and far between, and Macavity was part of almost none of them. In fact, in all his twenty one years Tugger had exactly one happy memory of Macavity, but he refused to dwell on it, for his Mother's sake. Even if Macavity had once been kind to him, he knew she was not as fortunate. 

It had seemed for so long that it was just Tugger and his mother, against the world. They got money from Macavity, for rent and clothes, but he insisted that Tugger's mother work for him in return. She refused to tell Tugger what he made her do, but she came home with bruises sometimes. Tugger never questioned where they came from, he just brought her ice packs, and later bandages, when the injuries got worse. By the time he was ten, he knew how to sew skin back together better than he knew his times tables. He vowed to himself that he would get her away, away from Macavity. 

Macavity had told him, when he was young, never to call her Mommy, or Mom, or Mama, or Mother. Mothers, Macavity said, had nothing to offer. They were past their prime, and useless to him. Children were needless complications. But, he said, he loved Tugger's mother. He said he loved Tugger. But he told him to never call her Mother, lest someone hear. Her name was Grizabella, and from the day he turned six it was what Tugger called her. He was no longer a little kit, Macavity told him, he had to grow up.

So he did.

He learned to cook, and to clean. He walked to and from school, and he took care of Grizabella when her head hurt too much to speak, and when her heels rendered her unable to walk. He learned to be sweet and respectful to the adults around him, and at school he learned to ignore the children who made fun of his dirty clothes. He learned to smile at them, and insult back. To not get in trouble. Grizabella worked while he was at school, and Macavity did not appreciate it when she was called in to deal with Tugger. He learned that lesson early on, and he learned it painfully. 

He knew Grizabella wanted what was best for him. He knew that she couldn't take care of him, and that she couldn't protect him from Macavity. Not forever. But he knew she loved him. He knew when she taught him to sing, and to dance. Things she'd known in her life before him, a life that he knew was long gone. He knew when she told him to stand up straight, and to smile when he talked to anyone. He knew when she told him, over and over, that one day, he would have a real job, and a real life. 

It seemed inevitable to him that one day he would work for Macavity. That he would do what Grizabella did, which became less and less of a mystery as he grew up, until everything snapped into place with a disturbing clarity one day when he was twelve. He looked at Grizabella, and he saw his future. But he knew that when she looked at him she didn't see herself. She saw a star, shining on a stage or a screen. She saw his voice, his drama, his charisma, and she saw him being happier than she could ever hope to be. He knew she wanted that for him, and that to get there they only had to survive Macavity. And because she believed that if they could only do that, he would be that shining star, he knew she loved him. 

* * *

He was fifteen, when Macavity first gave him a job. He was told he was old enough, but he still felt too young, too afraid. He knew better than to dare protest, however. That night Macavity walked him home, keeping him upright so he didn't break his nose on the pavement. He had never been drunk before, but he thought that being drunk was probably better than not being drunk, since it was probably keeping all kinds of pain at bay. Macavity was telling him that it would get easier, that he was a natural, that he had done wonderfully. Tugger had never seen him so at ease. As he watched the sidewalk pass under his feet, he also realized he had never understood Grizabella so well. 

The moment Tugger was eighteen, Macavity had forbidden him from living with Grizabella any longer. He had payed the first month of rent for Tugger on a smaller, dingier apartment in an even worse part of town, and moved him in with a promise to pay him enough to keep him there. Macavity made very few promises to Tugger, but those he made, he kept. This one was no exception, despite the conditions. Tugger, like Grizabella, was indebted to Macavity. But Macavity kept him closer, had him do more. He worked like Grizabella did, selling his body in exchange for client's money and Macavity's favor, but he also ran errands and carried messages, and entertained Macavity's guests. 

He knew that Macavity had come to value him above Grizabella. To hear Macavity say it, she was a whore, but Tugger was more akin to a courtesan. He didn't mind. Courtesans had power, limited though it was, and even Macavity granted him that. He used it to keep Grizabella safe. She no longer walked the streets alone and unprotected, no longer had to go with men who would hurt her. Men, that was, who weren't Macavity. Tugger could only do so much. 

He rarely saw her once he'd moved away. He was allowed to finish out high school, but Macavity forbade him from enrolling in community college, instead entrusting him with more responsibilities. Tugger wanted to hate Macavity for that, for taking away his chance to learn to be an adult. For keeping him from learning anything respectable. But he couldn't. Macavity kept him in a job that felt dangerous, a job he was sure would drive him to ruin, but it was a job. It was many jobs, and he learned so much about the workings of crime, more than he had ever wanted to know. But he was learning, and he owed it to Macavity. 

Grizabella was safe. Tugger was alive. That was all he had ever wanted, all he had ever asked for. At twenty one he was still under Macavity's thumb, with no escape in sight. He could feel he was digging himself further into the grave, little by little losing the hope Grizabella had once had, of a better life. _Just a little longer_ , he told himself. _Just a little longer, and maybe Macavity won't chase me if I leave_. 

After all, he thought, what was a little more time when he would be there forever?


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Macavity had called for him."
> 
> In one night Tugger's world is turned on its head, for worse and for better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the update thing was a lie. I WILL update this fic... semi-regularly, but since I'm still in school I'm afraid I can't make scheduling promises. The only thing I can guarantee is that it will be finished, hopefully by the end of the quarantine. 
> 
> Again, a HUGE thank you to my beta, MagicalMarvelous!

It was a cold Thursday night, the kind that brought in wind that blew right past fur and skin to lash directly at the bones of anyone who was foolish enough to be out in it. Tugger, until a moment ago, had been one of those people. His double coated fur and leather jacket were both no match for the chill, and he shivered even as he stepped inside the warm house.

Macavity had called for him. It was the only reason he would go out in such weather, and it was almost never worth it. But he could not simply refuse to see Macavity. That would end in disaster far worse than whatever the meeting ahead held. 

Macavity's office was beautiful, old, and most likely haunted. Everything in it was a dark, antique wood, carved with elegant swirls and leaves. There were gas lamps, a fireplace, and hundreds of old books. The chairs had velvet on them. As a kitten, he had thought it was all beautiful. It was a privilege to be there, and it made him feel like he was in a movie or a novel. Now, there was only a sense of dread and foreboding. He only ever went to the office to see Macavity. 

The old house where Macavity held court was quiet. It was midnight, and any cat that lived there was fast asleep, save for Macavity himself. His office door was left open just a crack, firelight spilling out into the dark hall and creeping up Tugger's feet. He was there, Tugger knew, waiting. He didn't like to wait.

Tugger reached for the door slowly, and tried his best to open it without making a sound. One of the hinges creaked, but if he opened it slowly enough it would sometimes stay quiet. Tugger prayed this was one of those times. He hesitated, wanting to prolong the time he spent outside the office. But it could only be so long, so after allowing himself one last, grounding moment, he stepped into the room and closed the door.

Macavity was seated at his desk, working. He didn't look up from the papers he was reading, but he spared Tugger a displeased hum of acknowledgement. He finished reading and signing the papers on his desk, leaving Tugger standing by the door for what seemed like forever. However, the grandfather clock in the corner said it was only five minutes until Macavity put down his pen and removed his glasses. 

"You're late." 

Tugger didn't need to be reminded. He swallowed.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Have a seat."

Tugger sat. Despite the unpleasant situation, the velvet chair was comfortable, and a welcome relief from the tension in his body, which melted as soon as his back hit the backrest of the armchair. It was an old reaction left over from kittenhood, but it served him well in times like this. He ran his paws over the deep red velvet, and idly thought that Macavity leaned into the aesthetic side of being a mob boss far too much. He read too many crime novels. 

The clinking of glasses shook Tugger out of his reverie, and he looked up to Macavity handing him a drink. He took it, and sipped at it. He didn't like whiskey, but he was fairly sure Macavity was intent on changing that. It was all he ever gave him. Tugger payed close attention to his drink as Macavity sat down, and only looked up when he cleared his throat, and started searching the papers on his desk. Tugger waited, and eventually Macavity spoke.

"I have a job for you. It's nothing you've done before, it's part of something much larger, much more ambitious. I have plans I haven't told anyone of, not my business associates nor my henchcats, and I need you to help me set them in motion," he found the paper he had been looking for, and passed it to Tugger. It was a picture of a wealthy looking, middle aged cat. His fur was beige and his face was, to Tugger at least, incredibly forgettable. Macavity continued:

"That is Emerdon. He and I made a deal, which he has backed out of. I need you to kill him."

  
  
  


The world around the picture in Tugger's paws faded into the same lifeless beige as Emerdon's fur on the paper. His ears rang. His mind was struggling to think, any kind of thought, anything that wasn't numbness and shock. The picture shook, and it was a moment before he realized it was his paws that were shaking. It was his whole body. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped breathing. He closed his eyes, and filled his lungs with air. As he exhaled, he tried to come up with a coherent response. Something to politely convey his distress, his unwillingness, without denying Macavity. Nothing came, but he knew ignoring Macavity was rude so he opened his mouth on autopilot, and was surprised to hear that sound came out when he did.

"...I'm not a hitman." 

"I don't need a hitman. I need someone who can get past anywhere from ten to thirty bodyguards and get Emerdon alone. He knows I must be after him, as he now goes everywhere with an entourage. But they have to leave him sometime, and guess when that is." His voice was light, as if they were sharing some inside joke between them. But Tugger knew that any joke Macavity found funny would likely make him want to throw up.

Tugger, of course, wasn't meant to actually guess. He was meant to think. His brain, however, was still flailing to grasp that this was real, that he was being asked to kill for Macavity, so he was lucky that this particular answer was painfully obvious.

"You want me to sleep with him so I can kill him after." 

Macavity beamed.

"He's said to have a soft spot for beautiful young men. You'll be perfect." 

Tugger felt sick to his stomach. He'd been in fights. He'd beaten people up. But he wasn't a murderer. He couldn't kill anyone. Even someone he didn't know. He wasn't a hitman, and he wasn't a violent criminal. He was a prostitute and a barely-known rock musician, both careers he coasted through on charisma and good looks, and perhaps a bit of luck. He wasn't really part of the mob. He wasn't really one of Macavity's men. He was an ornament at best, he never did anything worse than… well, his job got unpleasant sometimes. But unpleasant for him. He couldn't kill someone. He wasn't capable of it. 

"I can't do it."

He avoided meeting Macavity's gaze, but he felt the air in the room change. While Macavity had been annoyed with him initially, it seemed to have been forgotten when they started speaking about the job at hand. Everything had seemed normal. Tense, but normal. Now however, even the crackling fire couldn't drive the chill out of the office. Silence descended like smog, curling in Tugger's stomach and in his lungs, turning his bones to ice. He could feel Macavity's glare, and he held his breath. When Macavity spoke again, it was low and dangerous.

"Are you sure?"

This was where Tugger was supposed to say that no, he wasn't sure. He'd thought it over and yes, he could kill another cat, no problem. But that wasn't true. He couldn't. And if he told a lie, Macavity would know. 

"I can't kill anyone." 

Macavity swung his paw, and Tugger was thrown across the room, against the door. He could feel where Macavity's magic had hit him, it would be one hell of a black eye by the time he got home. He covered his face, to let Macavity know he got the message. But Macavity seemed more interested in getting his way than in making a point, and he strode around his desk to stand over Tugger, who was kneeling on the floor. Macavity knelt next to him, and leaned in.

"If you like," he said, his voice soft, but still cruel, "I could kill Grizabella instead. It wouldn't be any great loss to me." 

And he would, if Tugger kept refusing. Although Macavity loved Grizabella, he had an abundance of women like her. Tugger didn't. Grizabella was his family, she was all he had. He couldn't fathom what his life would be without her. Despite Tugger's hesitation, they both knew what his decision would be. He only wanted Grizabella to be safe. He would do anything for her.

He nodded at Macavity, and muttered something about doing it. 

Instantly Macavity relaxed, and the chill left the air. The heavy feeling disappeared from Tugger's body. Macavity laid a gentle paw on his shoulder and smiled, as if nothing had happened, before going back to his desk. 

"Emerdon is hosting a rather upscale party at his house in ten days. I'll get you in, and I want everything done then. Is that alright?"

Tugger nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

"Good. You'll be needing this."

Macavity reached into his desk, and pulled something out. He held it out for Tugger to take. It was a handgun, a revolver. Small and easy to hide. Tugger took it. Macavity nodded in satisfaction, and gave him a small smile, the kind that said  _ you're safe with me, since you're doing what I tell you. _

"Now, go home and sleep. It's late, and I'm sure you have somewhere to be tomorrow." 

Tugger nodded one more time, and left as quickly as he could.

* * *

Even an underground train platform offered no shelter from the biting wind. Tugger's jacket was not nearly enough to fight it; his legs were cold and his head was cold, and what the jacket did cover wasn't warm, only a few degrees further away from frostbite. It was closing in on two a.m., the platform was dark and the trains only came about once an hour. He was lucky, though, and felt the rumble of an approaching train after no more than five minutes of waiting. Now all he had to do was make it home. All the way across town.

He boarded the train, and swung himself down onto a seat. It was deathly silent, as any subway in the middle of the night might be. As soon as he hit the seat, exhaustion seeped into Tugger's bones. The meeting played on a loop in his head, the details sharpening as his brain attempted to block out the important parts of the conversation, the parts that had changed his entire reality.

The taste of the expensive whiskey Macavity had given him still lingered on his tongue, and he did his best to focus on it. The whiskey. The firelight. The velvet of Macavity's chairs. The scrollwork carved into his desk. The picture that had sat on the desk, of the cat with beige fur and features that for the life of him Tugger could not remember. The way the picture had shaken in his paws. Macavity's claws across his face, the doorknob momentarily but painfully digging into his back, the cold weight of a gun pressed into his paw, the gun that now resided in the inner pocket of his jacket…

His head was in his paws, his elbows braced on his knees. He was trying to breathe but it was hard, hard when he could feel the gun in his pocket, and Macavity's magic digging into his face, and the beating of his heart against his ribs. He was a murderer. It didn't matter that he hadn't done anything yet, he was going to, there was no backing out and he was going to kill this cat he didn't even know, he was going to lure him away from people that cared about him to somewhere where they were alone and he was going to sleep with him, and then he was going to shoot him and he would die, and Tugger would have to pull the trigger, because if he didn't, Macavity would kill his-

His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that he was sobbing. Air was forcing itself in and out of his lungs, and he was gasping for more of it as tears streamed down his face, staining his jeans and his boots and the floor of the train. He tried to wipe them away, tried to get them to stop but they wouldn't. He only cried harder and harder, as he fought to breathe through his panic. He would be ok. He wasn't in danger, Grizabella was no longer in danger. He would be ok. The tears didn't stop.

He hadn't heard any footsteps approaching, but all of a sudden a paw extended into his field of vision. It held out a pack of tissues. It's owner didn't speak a word, but they may as well have. They pitied him. Or thought he was drunk. He was a grown tom crying on a subway train at two in the morning, it was reasonable. Nonetheless, he took the tissues. 

The owner of the paw, however, did not leave. They sat down next to him, and quietly waited for him to dry his eyes, and his nose. It took far longer than he would have liked to admit, minutes instead of seconds. His eye was already swelling up, he had to be careful with it. Eventually he balled up the tissues he'd used, stuck them in his pocket to throw away later, and turned to hand the pack back to its owner. 

They were watching him with concern in their deep, dark eyes. The eyes caught Tugger's attention, there was something familiar about them, yet something entirely new. It was a strange feeling, since he definitely didn't know this cat. They were a tuxedo, with an entirely white face, but black hair and ears. They waited quietly for him to finish processing them before they spoke.

"Are you ok now?"

Right, because they had found Tugger sobbing on public transportation. In the middle of the night. It was definitely far too late to save face by putting on his usual smile and charm, so he just sighed. 

"I'll get there. Thanks for the tissues."

He held them out again, signaling the other cat to take them. The cat shook their head.

"You can keep them, I have plenty more." The cat regarded him again, furrowing their brow in concern. "Is your eye alright?" 

Right, his eye. It really hurt.

"It's just bruised. It'll get better."

"May I ask what happened? You might need to get it looked at." 

Tugger shrugged. "Got punched. It probably just needs some ice, it'll be gone in a week."

The other cat nodded. They seemed somehow unsatisfied with the answer, even though Tugger was a total stranger to them. They turned to him again, still seeming worried.

"When's your stop?"

"Second to last.

"Oh. Mine's the last."

They fell into silence then, but it was companionable. The quiet kind of solidarity gained from an intimate connection with a stranger made on the subway at two in the morning. The strange cat asked no more questions, and even if the questions they had been asking were somewhat invasive, Tugger found he wanted to hear more of their voice. They had a very nice voice, it had a bit of a mysterious quality to it. Like they knew something they knew would pleasantly surprise you. If they had run out of questions, Tugger decided, that was alright. He could ask questions too.

"What's your name?"

"Mistoffelees."

That was… not what Tugger had expected. 

"I know it's long. Misto is fine." 

"It's not that it's too long, it's just… an interesting name, is all."

"Thank you."

There was a hint of pride in their voice. Like their name had been their idea. 

Oh.

"Hey, I can't throw stones when it comes to interesting names," he held out his paw for them to shake. "The Rum Tum Tugger."

They gave him an incredulous look.

"Did your parents really put 'The' in front of your name?"

"Nah, it just sounds better that way. It doesn't even matter, you can just call me Tugger. Everyone does." 

They smiled at him, and he found himself giving them a small smile in return. An almost genuine one. It hit him, all at once, that this had to be the most beautiful cat he'd ever met. Their fur was monochromatic, either black or white with no in-between. They couldn't have been much younger than Tugger, but there was something sweet about their face… something calm. Perhaps it was their beautiful, dark eyes, or the serene expression they'd worn throughout the conversation. He couldn't really put his finger on it. There was just… something about them, something that intrigued him. They were mysterious. And beautiful. Definitely beautiful. 

They had noticed him staring. They had, of course, also been staring at him, studying him in the same way he was studying them. He noticed that they were staring just as they noticed him, and both looked away. But only for a second. 

They must have figured out that there was some mystery to them he was trying to solve. They went to speak, before reconsidering and closing their mouth. After a moment, they opened it again.

"I'm a guy. In case you were wondering."

Tugger actually hadn't been. He hadn't thought about it past briefly noting that Misto had chosen a very, very cool name for himself. 

"Cool. So am I, although you probably could have guessed that."

Misto laughed, and in that moment it was the most remarkable sound Tugger had ever heard. He felt the smile he had conjured up for Misto's sake spread to his eyes, and slowly out, until the weight that had been clinging to his heart since he'd gotten the phone call from Macavity slowly began to lift. It didn't disappear, but as Misto smiled at him, it certainly felt lighter. 

"So," he asked, "What do you do?"

Misto, as it turned out, was a dancer with the Pennsylvania Ballet. A rising star. It almost made Tugger feel a bit bad that he (supposedly) did nothing more interesting than play in a band, but Misto seemed as excited to hear about punk music as Tugger suddenly was to hear about dance. At the end of the day they were both artists, and they spent the rest of the ride talking about performances, and music, and time management. There were almost twenty minutes til Tugger's stop, and he didn't spare a single second for thinking about Macavity. 

Tugger easily could have talked the whole night away with Misto, but all too soon the train neared his stop. As they watched the platform come into view Tugger realized just how much he didn't want this to end. Talking to Misto was exciting, it made him forget everything else. They used their final moments of conversation to exchange telephone numbers, written with some difficulty on tissues from the pack Tugger still held. 

As he left the train, the weight of the night settled back onto Tugger like a blanket of thorns. Familiar, comfortable, but at the same time painful, and impossible to remove. The small reprieve had helped, he was now far more at peace with his situation that he should have been. Perhaps it was the time of night.

He had ten days. Ten days before he had to kill someone. Ten days to live the life he knew, as the person he was, before those things changed forever. He could do it. He had to be able to do it. And so he would. But he would think about that tomorrow. 

And maybe he would call Misto tomorrow, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you comment it moves the next update up by like three days. Please tell me what you think I beg of thee.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a HUGE thank you to my beta, MagicalMarvelous! 
> 
> This chapter coincided with the end of the school year, and as such took forever to write and edit. But school is out now, so I should be getting a lot more done! Fingers crossed, anyway.

As the day dawned, Tugger traced the pattern on his wallpaper for the thousandth time that night, debating whether breakfast was worth the effort.

He hadn't slept. Thoughts of Macavity plagued him, and every time he closed his eyes the image of Emerdon's face swam in his mind. When he tried to think of happier things, all he could conjure were Mistoffelees's deep, black eyes. While the night dragged on his mind moved on an endless loop, from Macavity to Emerdon to Mistoffelees and back to Macavity. As the first rays of sunlight crept into his window, he decided it was better to give up on rest and give his brain something else to do.

He made himself what he considered an extravagant breakfast, taking the time to cook pancakes and slice up some fruit. As he ate he listened to the news, which he had almost no interest in, but had to stay up to date on in case someone asked him about it. Macavity's business partners tended to be very invested in finance and politics, and Tugger had been told in no uncertain terms that he would _not_ make Macavity look bad by being ignorant of them. He took more note of the weather, which was going to be cold again. Once the weather was over and a talk show started playing, he switched off the radio to wash his dishes.

The routine was comforting, if a little surreal. It felt almost as if nothing had ever happened, like he had gone to bed instead of going out to meet with Macavity. Except, he hadn't slept at all, and everything was different now. He was still in the clothes he'd worn to work the night before, and could still smell Macavity's office on them. He needed a shower.

Standing under the hot water, he did his best to not think of Macavity, and to instead focus on the beautiful, mysterious cat from the train. Mistoffelees.

There was something about him, something that kept him in Tugger's mind. He was handsome beyond a doubt. He had been kind and compassionate, even though he hadn't known Tugger at all. But Tugger knew plenty of beautiful, kind people. It was Misto's smile that filled Tugger's thoughts, the way his voice had filled with excitement and wonder when he talked about the things he loved. The small shrug of his shoulders when he laughed. Things Tugger hadn't even noticed himself noticing, yet now swam to the forefront of his mind as he turned their conversation over and over. 

Mistoffelees had a dancer's poise. It made sense, but it hadn't registered in Tugger's mind at first. Now it did, as he recalled the easy grace with which Misto had moved and gestured. The way he'd sat with his back straight and his legs crossed, even in the dead of night on a subway train. He'd made just sitting there and talking look purposeful and elegant. He'd been quiet and a bit reserved, but so confident in everything he said and in every movement he made. Even the tilt of his ears had exuded deliberate calm and self-assurance. 

Being with him, Tugger had been able to forget the mess he was in. It had been like an enchantment had come over him, one that made everything but Mistoffelees's smile and his haunting eyes melt away. But Tugger knew that was impossible. He'd seen magic. Magic was cold, and violent, and made fear settle in his stomach as soon as it entered the air. Macavity used magic. If magic was dark, Mistoffelees was a ray of dazzling, golden sunlight. Tugger didn't know what to call that, and he didn't care. He wanted to talk to Mistoffelees again, to hear his voice and see his smile. 

The shower water had run cold, and Tugger hadn't even noticed. Sighing, he turned off the water and grabbed a towel. He had a lot to think about, and he needed a second opinion on most of it. 

He had a phone call to make.

  


* * *

  


Two hours later, Tugger lay with his head in the lap of the most beautiful queen in the city. His fur was almost dry. 

Above him, she was talking about… something. He wasn't listening too closely, he was just glad to have her there. Both his schedule and hers prevented them from seeing each other much, and it was a miracle she'd been free when he'd called begging her to come to his apartment and distract him from his own thoughts. So far she was doing wonderfully, going on about some client they'd both had in the past. She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke, and he focused on the sensation, and the sound of her voice. It was good to see her. 

Bombalurina was his best friend. She was also his coworker, his bandmate, and the best thing that had ever happened to him. They'd met in middle school, immediately became inseparable, and never looked back. They'd gone from troubled kids with something to prove to even more troubled adults with no more energy for proving anything. But at least they'd gone together. She worked for Macavity too, a favorite among the johns and high in demand. She was expensive. She was treated well. She rarely had the time to see Tugger anymore, but he knew she still loved him. The evidence was in the way she'd dropped everything to come running to talk to him about nothing. 

"... He wasn't even paying attention, it was like I was invisible! So I took an extra twenty bucks from his wallet. He won't miss it, the asshole." 

Tugger smiled. One would think the men Macavity did business with would have learned not to mess with her long ago. Apparently not.

"He deserved it for ignoring you."

"Right? He had it comin'. So," 

She looked down at him, and patted his head in a lighthearted, affectionate way, even as her expression turned serious.

"What's up? You've looked like death this whole time, and you've let me talk for like fifteen minutes without saying _anything_. Do you wanna talk about it?" 

Tugger sighed. He really didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to forget. But that wouldn't help, he knew, it would only make the inevitable worse. If he told her what was happening, and everything that had happened, he wouldn't be so alone. And the last thing he wanted was to be alone. He wanted to tell Bomba everything, to put it all in the open and be able to finally breathe, finally cry while she was there to hold him and hear him. He just didn't want to have to say anything. 

"Macavity made me go to his office last night." 

"And?"

Tugger took a deep breath. He wasn't ready.

"He…" another breath "he wants me to kill someone. He handed me this guy's photo and told me to get him alone at some gala in like a week. And he gave me a gun and said if I don't do it Griz is as good as dead and I-" 

He forced himself to breathe again, barely holding back more sobs.

"I don't- I can't… I'm not a murderer. I don't _want_ to be a murderer. I don't want to hurt anyone and I don't want to kill anyone but I don't want to lose Grizabella, _fuck_ Bomba what if I do it and he kills her anyway? What if he's just lying to get me to do his dirty work or it's all some sick joke and he doesn't need anything what if I'm just doing it for _nothing_ , I can't kill anyone, I can't live the rest of my life knowing that he had all these years and opportunities and maybe kittens and grandkittens who will miss him and I just have to take all that away, I can't-" 

He was cut off by Bombalurina wrapping her arms around him, and hauling him up into a sitting position. He hugged her back, clung to her like a drowning man to a life preserver, and he cried. He'd moved past the shock, and the panic, and he now cried for everything that would never be, for Emerdon and for himself. For the family he would tear apart, and the peace he would never have. The lifetime of happiness both of them could have lived were it not for him. 

Bomba was purring, running a paw up and down his back in a soothing rhythm. It was something she'd done for him before, and something he'd done for her just as many times. Be there, be solid. She didn't ask him to talk again, she just let him cry until the tears refused to come, and even then she held him and purred. His nose was running, and his black eye hurt like hell. He was getting snot and tears all over her nice blouse, but she didn't seem in the least bothered. She waited until he pulled away from her, and wiped away his tears with her sleeve, carefully avoiding his eye, and the scratches Macavity left.

"Hey… you're gonna tough this out, ok? I know you can, you're the strongest cat I know. And besides, you got me! Between the two of us we can think of some way around it, or out of it. If it comes down to it I'll kick Macavity's ass myself."

Despite himself, Tugger smiled. He knew she wasn't going to go after Macavity, they were both aware it would be a quick yet painful death if she tried. Nevertheless he felt cheered up, if only a little. It was nice to know she had his back, no matter how little that ended up meaning in the end. He hoped he could make it long enough to have hers in return, he seriously owed her for this. 

She combed her fingers through his hair, attempting to wrestle it into some semblance of style. Another touch of normalcy is his bizarre, upside down reality. The one where he was a killer, but his best friend still loved him. The one where he ate breakfast and listened to the radio with a gun in his pocket. It was surreal and strange. He was becoming increasingly disconnected, he realized, from the situation. Maybe it was self preservation. It didn't really matter, as long as he could function. Bomba, he noticed, had given up on his hair and was speaking again.

"This was just last night, right? Something better must have happened to you in the past week or whatever. C'mon, tell me something fun. Take your mind off it."

And Everlasting did that sound appealing. Most of his week had, in fact, been incredibly boring. It was the night before that was worth relaying, everything that had happened before and after the meeting. 

"Well, I burnt some instant ramen at dinner time last night. And then, on the train home, I met this guy…"

  


* * *

  


Tugger stood in his bedroom, listening to the phone ring. He worried the cord in his paw, praying that it would be Mistoffelees that picked up, not the sister or uncle he had mentioned. He was calling at Bomba's insistence, to put Macavity well and truly at the back of his mind. And maybe get a date. It was Bomba's solution to most problems, but it really did work for her. It was worth a shot. 

She was still in the kitchen, probably eating shredded cheese from the bag. The phone picked up just before it went to voicemail. 

"Hello?"

Oh thank the Everlasting. 

"Hi, this is Tugger? We met on the train last night." 

"Oh, Tugger! Hi! I was just going to call you, but you beat me to it!"

"Yeah… hey, I know it's short notice, but my band practice just got canceled for tomorrow. Do you want to grab lunch or something?"

He would probably be busy. Tugger had no idea what a dancer's schedule was like, but he knew from experience that the weekend was no guarantee of a day off in every job. Misto probably had rehearsal. And Tugger understood that, he did. And it was alright if Misto had to decline, even if a lunch date would be _really nice_ , because Tugger understood that work had to come first-

"Yeah! Yeah, I'd love that!"

Oh. He could _hear_ the smile in Misto's voice. Even over the phone, it brought warmth with it. He couldn't help but smile back, even though Misto wouldn't see it, and Bomba would tease him. 

"Awesome, does just… a deli work?"

"Yeah, absolutely! Can we meet on Walnut and Sansom at noon?" 

"Across from the museum?" 

"Yeah."

"Sure! I guess I'll see you then!"

"Absolutely!" 

Tugger didn't want to hang up. Misto didn't seem to either but there was nothing more to plan. 

"... bye Tugger!"

"Bye Misto." 

Click. 

Tugger all but ran back into the kitchen, grinning like a madman.

"Bomba, we gotta cancel practice tomorrow!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, 1 comment = 1 day closer to the next update!
> 
> Seeing all of your comments and feedback makes me so happy. I love knowing what you're thinking, and if there's anything you'd like me to try and incorporate. I do have the whole story planned out, but if there's small things you want to see, don't hesitate to let me know!


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